


Just In Time

by spideysmjs



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Canon Nudged So Far to the Left, Existential Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Meet Bang, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-27 20:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs
Summary: He looks astonished that she’d ever agreed with him. “Yes, as in you’ll go with me?”MJ pauses for a beat. Instead of visualizing death or thinking about how much she secretly misses her parents or how his hair is now losing its hold after an eight-hour train ride, she thinks about the next 20 years.She thinks about all the opportunities that can pass in two decades, and how getting off this train and experiencing one night in Prague is one of them.Finally, her lips curve at the corners. “Yes.”Or, aBefore SunriseAU.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 31
Kudos: 64





	1. trains and travelers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tvfanatic97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvfanatic97/gifts).



> Happy birthday, T! 
> 
> You are one of the best people I've come across. From our writing talk about Spideychelle/writing in general to screaming our opinions into the void (aka Letterboxd + each other's DM's), you always know how to brighten my day. I'm so glad to have a great relationship with you, and you deserve all the love and appreciation you get today (and every day after today).
> 
> Please enjoy this (not so secret) _Before Sunrise_ AU. I know you love these movies, and I love you very much, so enjoy!

_June 16th 2029 - 8:35am  
_ _Budapest → Prague_

MJ catches the train just on time, almost missing the stop, too immersed in her novel to notice everyone walking from the waiting area to the train car. 

After entering, she scouts a space scattered with few people and exposed to enough sunlight for her to enjoy the next chapter without any disruptions. She waits five minutes before lifting her legs up to the empty seat next to her, curling with her back pressed against the window, ready to take on the next chapter. 

However, two pages turned, and she hears the hushed whispering of a German couple bickering at each other. At first, she does her best to ignore it, not wanting to start any drama or chaos on the very _long_ trip back to Paris. For people-watching purposes and her tendency to eavesdrop, she wishes she could understand German, so at least the noise served more of a purpose of entertainment for her than slight annoyance.

As soon as their voices reach a non-indoor level in the train car _designated_ for silence, MJ not-so-quietly lifts from her seat, grabs her one carry-on from the luggage rack above her, and rushes to the very back of the train car where she sees only two other people in different rows doing exactly what she planned to do for 15 hours. 

The bickering turns into white noise until MJ hears one, final outburst from who she’s guessing is the husband. She lifts her eyes up, narrowing them to face the scene, following the husband as he storms down the hallway and passes MJ’s seat while the wife follows, arms crossed and frustrated.

 _Bad-tempered husband_ , she thinks, basing all her opinions on the count that all men are trash, even ones in European countries—especially ones in European countries—that are only interested in MJ because of her American accent because, she assumes, they want to scam her out of her money. It’s happened once, twice, and MJ doesn’t allow the third time because she’s practiced her French after two years attending Sorbonne University, perfecting the accent that she could never have mastered back in high school. 

Her eyes follow the couple until the door slides shut behind them, and she quickly catches eyes with the boy in the seat across the car, both of them chuckling lightly at each other for a beat before quickly glancing down at the respective books. Her heart skips for a moment, slightly regretting how she couldn’t hold her gaze just a tad longer to get a better glimpse of his face without having to do a double-take. 

MJ reverts back to her deadpan stare, fighting the smile that’s creeping in the corner of her lips. She shakes her head, refusing to start a conversation with this guy, no matter how attractive she finds him, something she’ll never admit out loud to him knowing that making a move on a traveling stranger can only lead to a temporary fix before an inevitable goodbye. 

He hops one seat over, leaning across the small space between their rows. “Do you have any idea what they were arguing about?” 

MJ blinks, eyes moving up from her book. Silence. 

His hand makes its way to the back of his neck. “Sorry–uh–do you speak English?”

“Je ne parle pas anglais,” she says, a lie that’s become a necessary statement to avoid travelers who go to foreign countries for sex or money. 

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “I thought you did. Since your German book is translated in English.”

She looks down at her copy of _All I Need is Love._ Damn her retranslated novel. 

How did he catch that so quickly?

MJ changes the subject, only for the stranger’s eyes to widen in amusement when she speaks fluent English in her very, very American accent. “Have you ever heard that as couples get older, they lose their ability to hear each other?” 

He laughs. “No.”

“Well, supposedly, men lose their ability to hear higher-pitched sounds. And women eventually lose hearing on the low end.”

“Is that how physics works?” he asks. 

“No,” she says. “It’s nature’s way of allowing couples to grow old with each other without wanting to kill each other.”

The guy laughs, and MJ doesn’t like that her initial impression of the sound is wanting to hear it all over again—especially because she’s the most hilarious person she knows, and someone’s finally acknowledging it. 

She says, “I lied, obviously. I’m from the states.” 

“Your French is wonderful,” he says. “What are you reading?” 

She lifts her book up. He lets out an interesting, accepting _ah._

“You?” 

He shows the cover of _Meaning in the Multi-Verse_ by Justin Harnish.

She snorts. “You’re one of those horny for the multi-verse nerds?”

“Something like that,” he looks down at his book, the thumb that once bookmarked the spot in his copy has slipped away. He tucks the book on his lap, but before he could say another remark about the multiverse, the bickering couple finds their way back to their train car. All eyes fall on them. The wife shrugs and the husband keeps his eyes down while they make their way back to the seats. 

“Hey, I was thinking about going to the lounge car sometime soon,” he says, and MJ finds him running his hands through his hair again. She watches him closely, and studies his face like it’s the last time she’ll see it like it’s the end of the world—the same way she looks at every person she meets—except, for some silly reason, this guy looks back at her the same way. 

He’s really pretty. 

Freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. Light brown eyes that seem sincere enough for MJ to trust, as dangerous as going into a lounge car with a stranger sounds. His left eyebrow is frayed at the top, and she wants to sweep her thumb across the plane of the skin behind it to check for scars. 

“So?” he asks, grinning in a way that snaps MJ away from the gaze that she’s embarrassingly held for too long. She looks down, chuckling. 

“Let’s go,” she says, swinging her legs back down to the floor before pulling herself up as he leads her out. 

They trek to the lounge car in silence, walking through two other train cars before reaching their destination. Everyone else is quiet as they make their way, MJ’s eyes wandering at the various passersby of her life, always thinking about how each existing person in this train ride is a mere speck of dust in a story that is her universe, how they’re secondary characters whose faces she wishes she could always remember because of the way she falls in love so easily. 

All of them are background characters, except for this guy, and she doesn’t even know his name. 

The silence fades into distant chatter as they reach the car with semi-fancy tables dressed in white cloths and empty glasses. He asks, “So how did you nail that French accent so well?” 

She chuckles. “I’ve been studying French since high school. When I was waiting for responses from other schools, I got my acceptance to Sorbonne before anything else. I didn’t even think twice of submitting my intent to register.” 

“Is this seat okay?” he asks, his voice overlapping hers as she finishes her story. She hums in agreement, squeezing herself in the seat next to the window, facing him completely. Now, as she gets to look at him from a not-awkward angle, she lays her arms on the table and intertwines her fingers together as if she’s saying a prayer or preparing for an interview. 

“What about you? How’d you nail that American accent?” she lifts her eyebrow. 

“Me? I’m American.”

“Are you sure?” she asks. He looks taken aback, speechless in the way that makes her giggle stupidly. She lifts her arms up, elbows propped on the table as she rests her chin in her hands. “I’m just kidding. I can tell. And you probably don’t speak any other languages, do you?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, scoffing with feign offense, hand on his chest before he starts laughing and the skin around his eyes crinkle with some kind of blissful joy. “You think I’m the crude American who doesn’t know anything about anything outside of the states?”

She curves the corner of her lips. 

“You’re American,” he points out. 

“I still speak French fluently,” she says. 

“Listen, listen,” he says, straightening his back. “I try, okay?”

“Do you?”

“I do!” 

“Go on,” MJ offers, now folding her arms across her chest, waiting to be impressed. 

“I took Italian in high school,” he says. “Just a week ago, I tried to order something at a bistro when I was there, and while I was in line, I kept practicing the words in my head. Then, once I got to the register, I spaced.

“I said, ‘Can I get extra bread for table six?’ and she gave me the worst look _ever_. I felt so bad.”

MJ remains silent, unamused, but in her head, chuckling at how his cheeks blushed red as he said his little anecdote. She shakes her head.

“Anyway…” he looks down, then as he meets eyes with her again, he asks, “So where are you headed?” 

“Well, I’m going back to Paris. Summer classes start in a week, and I’m the type of person who needs hours and hours of mental preparation.”

“What were you doing in Budapest?” 

“Visiting my aunt,” she says. 

“Your aunt is Hungarian?”

“No,” MJ smirks again. “She’s just my lucky, single aunt that makes too much money and has no kids, so she travels everywhere. Hungary was her country of the month.”

“I have a single aunt, too,” he says, though this is the first time she sees him pout. She doesn’t want to pry. She doesn’t even know his name, and she’s still debating on asking because the moment she learns it, something inside her will unlock the urge to continue knowing this stranger, her brain already fusing together scenarios—both good and bad—that span through the next decade of her hypothetical life with him. 

“How about you? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Prague,” he says. 

“What’s in Prague?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he shifts in his seat, fingers fiddling with each other, the sleeves of his hoodie long enough to cover the bottom half of his palms. “I’m flying out from there. I was supposed to–I’m on this excursion. With my job. And I had three free days, and I didn’t really know what to do so…”

“So you went to Budapest?” 

“Heard there’s a lot of history there,” he tells her but doesn’t let her into the inside joke he appears to be having with himself. “I had a friend I was supposed to see but… but yeah, I just ended up trying to see as much of Germany as I can.”

“And has that been good for you?”

He shrugs. “It’s–it kind of… was a lot.”

“Work-wise?”

“Everything wise,” he says, leaning back, eyes moving to the window as they pass green pastures of untouched land. “I had to–um–report to a lot of cities. It was tiring, and this three-day break wasn’t really… what I expected.” A beat. MJ leans forward, captivated as his hand gestures to the outside world. “I feel like the nicest part of the trip has been looking out at windows on every train that I take.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess it just lets me think more,” he says. “Sometimes, I don’t even have time for that.”

“Your job sounds draining.”

“It is,” he admits with a slight lack of confidence, and the moment he says it, MJ notices the dark circle underneath his eyes like clockwork. “It is, but it’s worth it, you know?”

“Worth it to not think?”

“Trust me,” he chuckles, leaning forward, mimicking her positioning. “You won’t want to hear all the stupid shit that goes in my head sometimes.”

“I guess I can trust that,” she says. “You’re reading a novel about the multiverse.”

“And you don’t believe in it?” he asks. 

She shrugs. “There’s just a lot of more important things _here–_ ” she points at the window, “–than in a different, _possible_ universe.”

MJ watches him look out the window again, and the honest joy sparking in his eyes convinces her that he might actually be genuine. He asks, “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. She takes a moment to think about her answer before she offers, “Reading your favorite book for the fifth time. Eating breakfast. Laughing with friends. Taking a walk.”

He blinks. “You mean the boring things that everyone does every day?” 

“It’s not boring,” she says. “It’s finding the beauty of it.”

“I guess I can see that,” he says. “Maybe I’m just too busy to think about that kind of stuff as being… monumental.”

“Too busy thinking about other worlds?” 

“Something like that,” he shrugs coolly, answering in a way that lets MJ know that she’s met someone who can probe her mind and pick apart her thoughts in an interesting way—in a respectable way—an excitement of the unknown that’s burning at the pit of her stomach.

The waiter strolls into the car, providing menus with a lack of enthusiasm that MJ’s always been used to. 

“Thanks!” he says, cheerfully, though crushingly ignored by the waiter who’s already making his way back to the cart. He shakes his head. “Just like the city.”

“What city?” she asks.

“New York, of course.”

“You’re from New York?” she smiles. “Me too.” 

At the same time, they say: “Queens.”

“No way!” he claps excitedly, gathering some stares from others in the lounge. MJ flits her eyes downward, refusing to capture attention and wondering if this is what it’s like to be around this guy all the time. He continues with, “That’s _awesome_. Why’d you want to leave the best city ever?”

The question lingers in MJ’s head, and her heart starts to rip from the bottom because she hasn’t given her old home much thought until now, throwing her entire past behind her so easily, lying to herself that she’s not fond of the way the skyline glows by the Hudson River, or how each corner of the street has its own local bodega. She refuses to feel fond because her life is here now, in Europe, and she’s no longer stuck in a home where she is reminded every day by her parents of the crippling idea that romantic love doesn’t exist. 

She answers his question with a rhetorical one: “Did you know my parents never talked to me about the possibility of falling in love?”

He raises his eyebrow, the fuzzy one. 

“Even as a little girl, I’ve always had to be one step ahead when it came to my career. I’d tell my dad _‘I want to be a writer,_ ’ and you know what’d he say?”

“What?”

“Journalist, baby,” she answers in the worst impression of her father’s big voice. She sighs. “I’d say, ‘I want to own a refuge for stray cats and he’d say–’”

“Veterinarian?” he guesses. 

“He always knew how to turn my ambition into this practical, money-making venture,” she says, rolling her eyes as the train continues to travel, bumping through the track, the shakiness of the journey toward Paris similar to that of the life she’d live before moving out of the states. 

Still nameless, even if MJ has already nicknamed him Freckles in her head, he clears his throat. “I–uh–I lost my parents. At a really young age. I didn’t get to know them really.”

He says it casually. He says it as if being raised without parents isn't the worst thing he’s ever experienced. MJ bookmarks that thought in her head, knowing that it’ll be this story that will keep this stranger alive in her memories after they part ways. 

“My aunt and uncle raised me, though. I never felt ungrateful,” he sighs. “They let me do whatever I wanted, and when I had no idea, I just hid among the crowd. Laid low in school, followed what everyone else did.” 

“How did that work for you?”

“It didn’t,” he answers. The same chuckle escapes his mouth, the one that lures MJ into wanting to know more about this guy before they reach Prague. “I decided to do my own _big_ thing. Actually, I didn’t really have a choice. Some things just...kind of happen, you know? And you have to take responsibility for the things that happen. Because if you don’t, and bad things happen–”

She completes his sentence with, “they happen because of you.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, soft, toothless, and understanding. “Not everyone really gets that.”

“Not everyone is as good of a person,” MJ reassures him. He falls silent, and for the first time in the past two hours at the lounge, the stillness in between their constant chatter is tense. They’ve unlocked something, something deeper than what this is supposed to be, and MJ knows that she’s nearing the edge of dangerously falling for someone she’ll never meet again. Yet, for as much as she refuses to let fling herself off the cliff of this unknown feeling, she looks into his light brown eyes and finds something more than casual interest. 

She finds an entire universe waiting to be discovered.

“If I may,” MJ straightens her back as she asks, “what was your childhood like? With your aunt uncle? Before that Big Thing happened?”

His eyes swim into MJ’s, searching for something that she doesn’t know she can give him. When the intensity of his eyes fades away, he licks his lips. MJ witnesses the twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Hard. Strange. I learned about death when I was five.

“Aunt May talked to me every night explaining why my parents weren’t coming back because I asked all the time. I think maybe I thought if I asked enough, the answer would change. Then one time, I was helping her water the plants on the rooftop—she hides her garden up there because the superintendent never thinks there’s anything wrong with the roof—and the hose just burst with water, straight into the sun. This giant rainbow appeared, and I swear I saw my parents.”

“Your parents?”

“Yeah,” he says, the tint of his cheeks turning rosy. “It’s dumb, but I swear it happened. I ran and told May and she just gave me this big hug and kept telling me that I was just going through grief. She didn’t believe me, of course, who believes a five-year-old?!”

MJ smiles at him, fondness growing in her heart. She looks as he waves his hands with animation, telling this morbid story about the loss of his parents with such a grin on his face that convinces her he understands something greater than himself. 

She wishes she can find life’s greatness, too.

“She didn’t believe me until… until my uncle died. Her husband,” he sighs. “She would see him everywhere. So would I, you know. But we got closer because of it, and…wow, I’m really bringing down the crowd–”

“No, no,” she says, and she reaches her hand out, laying it on top of his. There’s no spark, nothing ripped from a page of a novel, but just the warmth of her palm against his calloused knuckles. “This is a really beautiful story.”

“When my uncle died, it was the first time I really understood how ambiguous death is. Then, all of the shit that’s happened in the past ten years… I don’t think I’d be afraid of death.”

Her thumb starts caressing the skin over his wrist bone. “Did you… did you Blip?” 

“I did,” he says, his free hand moving on top of hers. They’re clammy and restless but somehow that’s enough for MJ to open her heart a little more. “Did you?”

She nods, a quiet, accepting thing—a feeling lumping in her throat in the form of emotions she never really confronted and ran away from after coming back into her senior year. “I–uh–I did. My parents did, too. When we all came back… it was even worse. Our home. It’s hard to explain, and I don’t–”

“You don’t have to,” he says. 

MJ watches their hands intertwined so effortlessly with one another. When she lifts her eyes and catches his gaze, she admits, “Coming back has made me afraid of death every day. I swear.”

“What do you mean?”

“I could have flown to Paris,” she states. “But I’m too scared.”

“Come on,” he teases her.

“Yeah, yeah. I know statistics say it’s safer, whatever. But when I think about flying on a plane, I think about every single possibility that could happen. Because the possibilities are _endless_. What if there was a Blip again? What if the driver disappears and the rest of the people who didn’t blip crash and die?” She takes a deep breath. “And I visualize that a lot. Do you remember when you blipped? What you were doing in the last moments of consciousness before knowing you were about to die?” 

He nods, and MJ refuses now to make eye contact after opening her uncured wounds. “I remember, yeah.”

“That moment never leaves my mind. It’s exhausting.”

“I get it,” he squeezes her hand, finally letting go. 

He looks out the window, and her eyes follow. She says, “I think this is Prague.”

“Looks like it,” he mumbles. He rests his elbow on the window sill, pressing his chin in his curled-up fist. “I wish I met you sooner. These hours just flew by.” 

“Yeah, me too. This was nice,” she admits.

The train comes to a gradual stop, the squeaky wheels releasing the steam as MJ looks into the station again, watching all of the people who are ready to stop being in her little universe, one of those people including Freckles, who had walked to grab his bags, promising he’d come back to say goodbye.

When he does, MJ’s head perks up. He looks flustered, nervous as his hands comb through his hair again. He rests his carry-on luggage atop the chair. 

“Okay,” he says. “Admittedly, what I’m about to ask you is pretty insane. But if I don’t ask you this, I think I’ll be thinking about it for the rest of my life.”

She flinches her head back, tilting it before asking, “What?”

He claps his hand, sits down on the other chair that’s empty, and says, “I want to keep talking to you. I think… I think we have some kind of connection here. Right?”

Her walls come down, a sudden switch in her brain as she agrees with him. “Perhaps.”

“I think you should get off the train with me here, in Prague.”

“What?” laughter builds from her stomach. “What would we even do?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know. Explore the city. I have a flight tomorrow morning at 9:30, and I don’t really have enough money for a hotel, so I was going to walk around everywhere. It’d be more fun if you were with me, and we can go to a café first with Wi-Fi so I can look up any of the good spots and–”

“Yes,” she says.

He looks astonished that she’d ever agreed with him. “Yes, as in you’ll go with me?”

MJ pauses for a beat. Instead of visualizing death or thinking about how much she secretly misses her parents or how his hair is now losing its hold after an eight-hour train ride, she thinks about the next 20 years. 

She thinks about how life might not be as energetic as this moment. 

She thinks about how she could blame her future spouse for it.

She thinks about all the opportunities that can pass in two decades, and how getting off this train and experiencing one night in Prague is one of them. 

Finally, her lips curve at the corners. “Yes.” 

“I didn’t think that would work,” he exhales, cracking his knuckles. “I mean what if I’m some boring loser and you’re stuck in the city with me?”

“I can always leave,” she clicks her tongue. “Plus, who am I to not see what it’s like to be in your little universe?” 

He blushes again, and she doesn’t think she can get tired of making him nervous. “I didn’t really want to ask before right now because I didn’t want to be attached, but what’s your name?”

“My friends call me MJ.”

“And can I call you that?”

“Michelle,” she narrows his eyebrow. 

He shakes his head playfully as they both get up from the table they’d just spent hours at, their bags ready to be dropped off at some locker in the train station so they can spend the day together. 

“Nice to meet you Michelle, I’m Peter.”


	2. cemeteries and city lights

_June 16th 2029 - 4:39pm  
_ _Prague_

Never in his life did Peter think he’d even be allowed to have this daydream. 

He can thank his summer project with the Young Avengers for this. He can also thank his best friend Ned for finding the most convoluted trip route to save Peter extra bucks and subsequently introduce Peter to the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid his eyes on.

Of course, he’d been attracted the minute she strolled down the row of the train car and plopped herself in the seat across from his. Of course, he’d initially talked to her to escape the deafening silence of his own thoughts after his plans of visiting Liz while she’s abroad in Budapest were ruined because she’d broken up with him on his way there. 

Peter can admit his plans never work out in his favor—he’s _Spider-Man_ for crying out loud—but he didn’t think a _break up_ was on his to-do list for his three-day vacation in between missions. 

Then again, he didn’t think he’d be walking in the streets of Prague with a beautiful stranger—MJ, _Michelle_ —completely drawn by the complexities of her mind, from the way she speaks about life and death to the way her eyes have this power to look straight into his soul. 

After they finish stuffing their luggage into the lockers, Peter follows shortly behind Michelle as she ties her black cardigan around her floral dress. His eyes don’t miss the way the fabric of the dress clings to the curves of her waist and how her legs can go for days. She’s beautiful—her mind, body, soul continuously entrancing him as they wade through the crowds of travelers flowing in and out of the station.

They make their way over the Legion Bridge without a word, and somehow Peter’s more nervous than he had been when he asked her if she understood German only nine hours ago, that moment already turning into a fond memory of the past as if time stopped existing within the confines of minutes and hours. This is the first time they hadn’t exchanged a word with one another for longer than ten minutes since they met, and Peter’s hands have no idea where to go. 

“This is a great bridge,” he says, pointing out to the river they’re strolling across, only for him to shut his eyes in embarrassment from the lack of intelligent words coming out of his mouth, wondering if Michelle’s already regretting the decision of leaving the train with someone as embarrassing as him. 

They both laugh nervously as if the past eight hours hadn’t existed, as if the universe dropped them in front of each other on some bridge in Prague. She laughs, “This is kind of weird.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, hands still clammy and shaky from nerves. “No! No, this is going to be good. Fun, even.”

“Okay,” Michelle says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s go somewhere. Where–um–you wanted to go look some places up?” 

He pulls out his phone, ready to look up _most romantic places in prague_ until he sees Michelle wander ahead and approach strangers. She looks back, shoulders nudging him to follow. There’s a skip in the beat of his heart watching her as her brown skin basks in the slowly falling sunlight. When he catches up, she’s already chatting with the two men.

“...Peter and I just got to Prague, and we were wondering where are the best places to visit? Anything fun? Museums, exhibitions?” she asks, her posture straight and arms resting behind her back as she speaks to them. 

“Mmm, they’re just about to close,” one of the guys says, pulling out his watch. “How long are you going to be here?”

“Just for tonight.”

“Why did you come to Prague?” asks the other guy, one with glasses. 

Michelle and Peter exchange looks, both of them seemingly out of ideas until she says, “We’re on our honeymoon.”

If he had a mouth full of water, Peter would spit it out. Instead, he does his best to follow along. “Yeah, I–uh–we had to elope because she got pregnant.”

Glasses guy scoffs. “You’re a horrible liar. I would have believed you if you didn’t say anything.”

The two shuffle, hands searching their pockets until they pull out a brochure. They invite Peter and Michelle to a play later tonight as they trip over their words when giving out a synopsis. Michelle keeps up the conversation, something that Peter couldn’t do even if he tried, too nervous to be perceived as an uncultured American if he kept asking questions. 

“It’s at 9:30,” they both say. “You’ll be there?”

“Yeah, we’ll definitely try to make it,” Michelle says, her feet already shifting to walk away. “Thank you.”

As they part ways from the Prague natives, Peter mumbles, “So, should we go to the play?”

Michelle snorts. “Maybe if we can’t find anything else to occupy us. Look how much it costs.”

Peter glances over her shoulder as she points out the brochure. “I can feel my wallet getting lighter just looking at ticket prices.”

“Let’s catch that tram,” she says. 

Michelle does this often, Peter’s realized. She moves forward with grace from every situation, changing the subject if she needs to, brushing off any topic she doesn’t want to talk about. If Peter mulls over this observation more, he could break his own heart without even offering it to her in the first place, thinking about how hard it would be to let go of Michelle if she’s exactly the opposite. He attempts to brush off this feeling as they hop into the tram, fresh air breezing through the open windows. 

They sit at the very back, their arms and thighs pressed against each other, touching in a way they hadn’t before. It’s different than in the train when she’d rested her hands on top of his for reassurance, squeezing them for comfort as they dove deep into a conversation about death. 

Now, as they sit casually with each other, the awkward silence that had fallen over them has disappeared. 

“Let’s play 20 questions,” Peter suggests, leaning back fully onto the chair. Peter slings his arms around her shoulders. She melts into touch, and he releases his breath because her reaction could have gone a different way entirely. 

Feeling her shoulders tuck into his arm is natural, a response he can get used to.

“You first?” she pokes at his thigh. 

“Yeah, okay,” he looks out the window. The streets are slowly filling with more people. He wonders if this is the collective dinner time in Prague before the sun is even obvious with its intentions to leave for the night. “What was your first sexual awakening?”

She bursts out into laughter. “Of course you ask this.”

“The multi-verse isn’t the only thing I’m hor–”

“Stop that now,” she shakes her head. There’s a fond look in her eye, followed by contemplation and a look of preteen daydreams. “God, I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“I do,” Michelle says in reverie. He teases her more and she nudges him. “We went to summer camp every year, and he would swim during free time because he swam in a team-high school. Gorgeous. I helped him dye his hair blonde once for fun. His name was Johnny Storm.”

Peter nearly chokes on his spit, now noticing how thirsty he’d been since getting off the train. “Johnny Storm?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, her eyes full of dreamy nostalgia. “My friend actually had this crush, and one day—it was the last year of summer camp I ever went to—he had walked up to me and I told him he should go out with my friend because she had a big crush on him. You know what he says?”

He waits for an answer, amused. 

Michelle shifts in her seat, voice toned down, seductive. “ _That’s too bad. Cause I have a big crush on you.”_

Even if she didn’t mean to say it to Peter directly, and even if it’s one of the hotter summer days in Prague, shivers run down his spine. Goosebumps as her eyes turn sharp and full of want. He opens his mouth, agape. “No way.”

“Yeah,” she laughs, eyes flitting down and her fingertips. Hair falls against her face. Peter’s hand from behind her shoulders makes its way to move the strand of her hair until she pulls her face back up. He flinches his hand away and he watches her, how her eyes shift down again, how her posture almost straightens as she continues her story about Johnny Storm as Peter thinks about how interwoven their lives could have been before she left New York. He doesn’t say a word. “I lied. I have a hard time when it comes to getting close to people. I thought something bad would happen if I even said yes, so…”

“You never talked to him again?”

Air escapes her nose. “We promised we’d write after the last year of summer camp, and promised that we’d keep writing to each other no matter what. He really was the sweetest.”

“Did you?”

“Of course not,” she tries to catch his gaze and he stares out the window. 

Peter almost feels bad for opening a past memory within her, except that now, as they talk about lighter topics outside of the train station, he feels more comfortable around her, comfortable enough to tease her and say, “I think this is the perfect time to tell you I have great agility, and therefore, I’m great at swimming.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says. A beat. “My turn?”

“But of course,” Peter says. 

He watches Michelle brush the curls away from her face. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Yes,” he answers flatly. “Next question. So–”

“Wait, that’s not fair,” she interrupts him, wagging her finger at him. “I gave you an expansive story about my sexual awakening, and you give me a one-word answer?”

“Those are two different questions!” the pitch in his voice. “Love is a complex issue. I could have told you about my sexual awakenings. Both of them.”

“Both?”

“Felicia. And,” he licks his lips. “Johnny Storm.”

“Shut up,” she rolls her eyes. 

“No, I’m serious,” he looks at her. “He’s made quite a big name in New York, you know. I’m surprised you don’t keep up. Everyone knows he’s got superpowers.”

She snorts. “I can’t say I’m surprised. New York is a mess. There’s a reason I left. All of that danger, all of those superheroes from a billion years ago. I could barely handle the original Avengers, and now Spider-Man’s leading the next generation?” 

He almost freezes but holds back. “So you do look at the news for updates?”

“Well, they’re everywhere. Plus the entire world–or universe, I guess–”

“Multi-verse,” he corrects her.

“Sure,” she says. “We’re still repairing from the Blip. I don’t know what caused it because the government doesn’t say anything, but even if superheroes did help save it, I’m sure as hell they were a part of the beginning, too.”

Heat curls in Peter’s stomach. “You’re not telling me you’re anti-superheroes?”

“I’m not,” she says. He narrows his eyes. “Really, I’m not. They’re great. But they’re not the only things on the news that matter, either.” 

“Fair,” he says. Both of them turn away from each other, facing the front of the tram. Peter doesn’t notice until now that people had shuffled off the vehicle, leaving just the two of them at the very back. He watches the driver, and almost meets eyes with her from the rearview mirror. She looks tired as she turns into a new street, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the wheel. 

“So love?” she changes the subject Peter hadn’t been prepared to talk about on his day off. Maybe she can tell he’s keeping something from her. He continues to stare at the driver instead. 

“Yeah.” Once he turns around, he can’t say he’s surprised that she’s already staring, ready to listen to him. “Have I told someone I loved them? Of course. Did I mean it? Yes. Was it completely unselfish, giving love? Was I ready to love someone the way love should be given?” 

He pauses. His shoulders lift up, then back down as he answers himself, “No. No, I don’t think so. You know?”

“Yeah.” The tug of her lips feels so familiar already, even though there’s a subtle dimple that Peter catches for the first time. “I get you.”

“Is it my turn again?” he asks, Michelle nodding silently and awaiting his question. “What pisses you off?”

“There’s a lot,” she blurts out. 

Michelle starts a list, and in this moment, Peter learns that she loves lists.

  1. She hates when strange men tell her to smile for no reason. Therefore, she’s not afraid to give them the finger.
  2. She hates that it’s been longer than how long the Blip lasted, and everyone is still facing consequences that no one pretends to notice. 
  3. (And according to Michelle this isn’t something she’s _annoyed_ at, but) she always says the truth even if it hurts people’s feelings. 



Her list goes on, and Peter keeps listening.

He can listen for days, weeks, and however long it takes to capture her attention in the same way she did with him in just a few hours.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” she changes the subject. 

“Michelle, we’ve literally died and come back to life.”

“In the same soul,” she says. “What if you’re a billion years old? What if however many more years you live, you gain knowledge.”

“I’m probably a baby soul,” Peter says. “I’m kind of an idiot.”

“Didn’t you mention a high IQ this morning?” she squints.

He shrugs, doing his best attempt at looking _cool._ “Ya caught me.”

“Loser,” she snorts, immediately covering her nose with her hand, blinking rapidly at the tram’s floor. “So reincarnation? Yes, no?”

Peter grins. “Yes.”

“So are we just the same million souls floating around, split among 7 billion bodies?”

He blinks. “Damn.” 

And they both say, “–and the Blip–”

They chuckle. She smacks her lips quietly. Peter only notices now the shakiness of the tram and the fact that they have no particular destination. 

Michelle says, “You see how much it affects everything? Even six years later?”

“Trust me, there's not too many people who know more than I do,” he huffs.

“What do you mean?” she says, shifting away from him, leaning against the window to her right. His arms feel emptier, and now that he’s experienced what it’s like to hold Michelle in his arms, he doesn’t think he can go back to this. 

“Nothing,” he mumbles. 

Michelle catches Peter’s gaze, staring into his eyes like she’d watched him become life on earth like she’s known his entire fate, saving it at her fingertips ready to trace the history of his life against his skin. 

He repeats, “Nothing. Let’s get off this tram.”  
  


_June 16th 2029 - 5:40pm  
_ _Prague_

Peter calms down from their intrusive conversation, leaving the unpleasant energy around the Blip and superheroes back at the tram. His slip-up has long since disappeared into a bank of forgotten memories, ones that pop up years from now as the longing taste of nostalgia. He takes each new hour as a fresh start, and there’s only just a sliver of daylight left before stores close and the nightlife awakens. 

They make their way to a record store, one that reminds him of the thrift store he and Ben would go to on Saturday mornings; then, Peter opened up that world to May after Ben died. 

When they both came back from the snap, the store had officially shut down.

His fingers trace across the plastic-wrapped records, multiple genres from classical music to indie pop. There are only a few people scattered in the store, one of them being the owner, who’s manning the register by the front of the store. 

Peter basks in his memory, pacing around the room until he meets Michelle again, right at the horror film scores section. 

“Study music,” she explains. “You know there’s a listening booth? Did you–uh–wanna try to check it out?”

“With your horror music?” he teases. 

“You pick,” she says, Peter taken aback at her response lacking a friendly comeback. 

She has her cardigan back on, he notices. 

He quickly grabs Hozier from the shelf before following Michelle into the listening booth. He hands her the record, and she carefully pulls the vinyl out of its case. She slips the vinyl onto the player, lifting the needle and placing it just above the beginning of the track. 

She presses play and leans back against the wall. Their bodies are pressed lightly against each other, back where Peter feels is right, only hoping that Michelle’s feeling the exact same way. 

The sweet sound of lyrics echoing from the record player mixed with the delicate scratch in the background makes Peter’s heart feel fonder, especially when the lyrics are about kissing.

They play eye tag, a game that didn’t exist until Peter came up with it the first time they played on the train. 

He can see Michelle smirking from the corner of his eyes. 

He can feel the deep sound of her heartbeat without even trying (and trust him, he’d done a great job up until now).

Peter doesn’t kiss her, and when the song ends Michelle steps out of the booth with her fingers on her freshly glossed lips. He’s an idiot.

The opportunities to kiss her are few and far between, the rest of the moments they spend together hurrying from one place to another, catching glimpses of Prague with a beautiful woman he’d met less than a day ago. 

No one’s going to believe Peter when he gets home, not even May; although, she _might_ cave into a little romance. He’ll have to figure out how to make this memory last forever. 

Their conversations dip in and out of the depths of seriousness, Peter always pulling himself out of the discussion before he reveals something he shouldn’t be revealing—especially not to a stranger from Paris, no matter how much he’s already spent envisioning the rest of his life with her. 

Peter and Michelle are on their way down a damp, moss-covered staircase made of stone. It leads to an opening to an area Peter had initially thought was a garden until he saw the stones and statues plotted across the grid of the field. 

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been here,” Michelle says. “My parents and I actually went to Prague for spring break. Just two months before…” 

“Anyway,” she nudges her shoulders for Peter to follow her. “This was probably the coolest part of the entire trip, even above all the awesome art museums we went to.”

They stroll through the cemetery, and Peter can’t deny his senses running up and down his spine ballistically. He wants to hold Michelle tight as he reads the signs on a few of the graves. 

“Death is strange,” Peter releases. He’d been holding his breath, taking in all of the lives that they walked through. 

“It is,” she says. “There are so many lives lived in this exact place. I can almost feel it.”

Peter shifts in the soil. “Are you sure it was a good idea getting off the train with you?”

“It was _your_ idea,” Michelle says, raising her eyebrow. “Getting scared, Pete?”

“No,” he says, high-pitched and embarrassing, although it doesn’t seem to bother Michelle. She smiles. “I’m actually a superhero.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

"I mean, I'm no Johnny Storm, but–"

"The one time I mention someone, of course we both kn–" she opens her mouth only to shut them right away. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks.

“Nothing,” Michelle says. “I found the reason why this place drew me so much when I went with my parents.”

She leans over a grave, showing Peter the name of a stranger, who’d only lived for 15 years. 

“We were the same age at the time,” she sighs. “Now I’m eight years older, and I feel like I’ve lived so many lifetimes already.”

“And so many more lifetimes ahead of you,” he says. 

“Yet she’ll always be 15,” she whispers. 

Peter tucks her hair behind her ear. Her hand catches his before it leaves the curve of her face. She presses his hand against her cheek. 

Michelle clears her throat, moving her face away. “Have you gone to a carnival in the past three weeks you’ve been here?”

“Only had three days off,” he says, hand finally making its way back to his pockets. 

“Great,” she says, arm looping around Peter’s as she walks them to the front of the cemetery again. “I know what we’re going to do next.” 

_June 16th 2029 - 7:39pm  
_ _Prague_

They find their way to the tallest point in Prague. With not too many high skyscrapers—no opportunities to swing through the skies—they find themselves on a Ferris wheel slowly inching their way to the top of the ride. Their ascension is slow, and after talking Michelle into seeing the city from the top of the sky, they’re both finally here, waiting.

Peter paces around the cart as he watches Michelle’s grip tight against the railing. 

“Am I dick for begging you to go on this ride even though you’re obviously afraid of heights?”

“I’m not afraid of heights.” Peter raises his brow. “Fine. I mean, I hate planes. I hate tall buildings.”

“Tell me you hate New York without saying you hate New York.”

She pauses, taking her time to think of an answer, Peter completely loving that Michelle has a bucket of scenarios that can apply to his request. “One time, Spider-Man saved my life and I scolded him for making me miss my curfew.”

Peter takes a step back. “What?”

“It was back in high school,” she says. “Why? Are you _so_ shocked that I have a classic New York tale?” 

“No,” Peter says, pressing his hand to the back of his neck. “I love Spider-Man.”

She has a telling look on her face, one that he can’t read even if he tried. 

“One time, there was a bus-to-car collision on my way home and I,” Michelle presses her forehead in her palm, “was not paying attention when I crossed the street because I was reading.”

“Oh, Michelle.”

“I know.” Her grip loosens on the rail when Peter comes closer. He places his hands on the rail next to hers, their pinkies touching. “He webbed me up just in time.”

“That’s great,” he says. He clears his throat, speechless knowing just how close they’d been before they even met. 

“He sounded like a dork,” she says. “He didn’t know what he was doing. Which is why it took _forever_ because he insisted on checking my vitals. I could tell he was young. He must be about our age now, too. Unless he didn't blip."

Peter swallows thickly. He takes a quick glance at Michelle. “I’m glad you’re alive."

Michelle smiles, looking out the window. Peter’s eyes follow where hers scan the sun finally disappearing slowly, slowly, still there, then gone. A blanket of hazy and tired purple colors fill the dusk sky. 

“I’m glad I’m alive, too.”

“After all we’ve been through.” Peter turns around to face her. She mirrors his body, her hands already moving up his arm. “You know, meeting each other… it’s kind of perfect timing.”

“Yeah?” she smiles, both her arms sliding up his body before she wraps them around his neck. 

“Everything in our lives had to have happened at a certain point to lead us to this point,” he explains. She presses her body closer to his. “And right now, I don’t know why I can’t shut up because a beautiful girl’s about to kiss me.”

“She is?” Michelle asks with a voice of mocking innocence.

“I hope so,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her tighter, closing the gap between them so their lips can finally meet. 

His brain goes haywire, fuzzy dots scattered over the blank of his mind as he shuts his eyes and lets his tongue inside her mouth. One hand unlocks his grip around her, making its way to the back of her head, gently pressing against her hair. 

Their mouths are hot, full of want that’s been building up since the moment they shared their first laugh together on the train.

Peter wants to memorize the taste of her mouth against his, only for Michelle to pull away slowly. He holds her by the waist again, leaning in to chase the adrenaline from her lips but instead, she pulls him into an embrace full of comfort, full of all the moments they’ve spent together, and full of now. He leans into the hug, smelling Michelle all around him, taking her all in as the sun fades to a navy blue, illuminated by the city's lights. Her hold around him is tight, both of them squeezing as if they’ll disappear in a matter of seconds.

Somehow, this hug means more to Peter than the flame of their lips finally meeting. 

Somehow, holding Michelle in his arms—an action that feels so new and so lived in all at once—brings Peter the peace he’s always searching for.


End file.
